


Moving On

by Lovefushsia



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Feelings, Kissing, M/M, Poor John, Poor Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 09:56:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5412482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovefushsia/pseuds/Lovefushsia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Sherlock's return and the wedding, John tries to come to terms with his feelings and realises that he needs Sherlock for more than friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GoWashTheLights](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoWashTheLights/gifts).



> (I think it's important to note here that this is also post John's very necessary shave. Because just no.)

“Oh God Sherlock, what the hell happened?” John reached out but his hand fisted at the last moment and he snatched it back just as Sherlock turned around.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for you to see.”

“Where were you?” John asked knowing his friend would never tell him that either.

“John, don’t worry about me, Mycroft had his people take a look,” Sherlock said softly, trying to placate him no doubt but making John even more intent on looking at it himself. He wanted to take care of his friend desperately, just wanted Sherlock to let him in.

“Please, Sherlock, let me,” John tried again as they continued to watch each other. Sherlock had pulled on his shirt and was buttoning it over his chest but John persisted, reaching out and touching his hands to Sherlock’s, covering them with his own. “Please?” he whispered again. Sherlock nodded and dropped his hands and John turned him around and reached up to take the shirt gently from his shoulders. He forced himself not to react again when he saw the cuts and gashes across his friend’s skin, but he had to swallow hard and take a deep breath before he could ask Sherlock to sit down. He left him there on the edge of the bed while he went to the bathroom and got some supplies.

When he came back Sherlock peered around to him over his shoulder. “It’s really not as bad as it looks,” he told John.

John cleared his throat but didn’t trust himself to say anything in case a stream of his real feelings came tumbling out. This wasn’t like being in the field, tending to his buddies, this was Sherlock. He dabbed gently at the injuries with disinfectant and antiseptic cream, nothing looked bad enough that he needed to do anything more. But he hated the fact that Sherlock had got himself hurt without John being there, and even without telling him about it afterwards.

“There,” he murmured, completely unable to detach from this and be the doctor that he was. He wanted... he wanted to comfort, to take away the hurt. But as Sherlock turned to him and reached for his shirt John could only look away, he couldn’t let Sherlock see that fear and longing in his eyes.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Just-” John shook himself. “Just don’t let it happen again, please?” His voice was shaking. He was a wreck. He grabbed up the medical kit and stepped quickly from the room, he had to get away. He hated this feeling because it only served to remind him that Mrs Hudson was right, that Mary was right. He felt something powerful for his friend - he was broken when he thought he was gone. And being close to Sherlock was not getting easier because John still felt like he was seeing a ghost. Touching skin with gentle fingers was too much.

He sat down heavily on the stairs a few steps down, head falling into his hands. He should go, he needed to leave Sherlock and get back to his real life. His new life. Even though he didn’t know how to do that anymore. And he couldn’t get the image of Sherlock’s damaged skin from his mind, visualise exactly how that must have happened and the rage filled him until he cried out with it.

“John.” Sherlock’s voice behind him shouldn’t have been so unexpected but John still flinched. He didn’t look around but he rubbed at his face, digging his knuckles into his closed eyes, angry at his tears, at Sherlock, at himself.

Sherlock sat down beside him with a huffed out breath, put his hands down by his hips and John did the same until he felt the slightest touch of skin against his own and he snatched his hand back.

“I’m sorry.”

John had heard that enough. He didn’t want _sorry_ he wanted the last two years back. He wanted them to be different, for Sherlock to have come back to him sooner - to have not put him through what he had at all. He loved Mary, he did... but he loved this man more. Their friendship, their love would survive anything, John knew that without a doubt now that Sherlock had returned. And most of all he knew that he couldn’t marry anyone, couldn’t even think it now. He knew it as soon as he set eyes on Sherlock, in that ridiculous get up in the restaurant, when he couldn’t finish the sentence he was trying to will forth because he thought he should, because he thought he would lose another friend if he didn’t propose. But those words had never come because the person he needed was right here.

He looked over to Sherlock, let his hand fall to his knee and desperately tried to say something. But the words still weren’t there. So he stared into the most marvellous eyes he’d ever known and tried to clear his head.

“I wanted you,” he finally said, voice barely there. “Every night I... you have no idea.”

“I have some idea,” Sherlock mumbled and John managed a glare.

“And now it turns out you were off getting cut to shreds by God knows what, while I was here... _angry_ at you, getting over you.”

Sherlock stayed quiet, keeping his eyes on John’s until John had to blink and turn away.

“I was never in any real danger,” Sherlock told him after a moment, and John frowned. “You were... getting over me?” Sherlock asked tentatively and John looked back to him, colour flushing across his cheeks.

Hoping to throw his friend off he said, “I was moving on. Trying a normal life for once. It felt good sometimes.”

“I never moved on,” Sherlock whispered and John’s breath caught. “I never forgot about you, about us, I wanted to come back but I took advice and... and I was wrong.”

“Advice? From your brother?”

Sherlock nodded. “I’m sor-”

“No, _no_ don’t say it,” John said rubbing at his face again. “I’ve heard enough of that word for a lifetime.”

“What can I say?” Sherlock asked dragging his hands through his hair. “How do I make it better?”

John had no idea. “Can you erase the last two years?”

“No.”

John actually cracked a smile, chuckled. “Fair enough.”

After another pause Sherlock asked, “Did you mean it?”

John looked at him, confused, then terrified by the look on Sherlock’s face. He looked sincere, almost as upset as John felt. “Mean what?” he whispered, dreading the response.

“Did you get over me?”

John shook his head and took a deep breath. “I could never get over you. You’re an idiot. But I’m so bloody glad you’re back.”

He didn’t think, he just lunged - eyes focused only on Sherlock’s mouth as he leaned across the small space in the stairwell and pressed his lips to Sherlock’s full, pale, soft lips. Oh God so soft as they moved against his.

John’s hand landed on Sherlock’s thigh where it pressed close to John’s leg and he felt his friend’s hand slide warmly around the back of his neck, pulling them closer, as close as they’d ever been. He felt Sherlock’s lips part against his gasping mouth and then Sherlock’s tongue was gently caressing his, licking carefully. And he kept his distance, the touch remaining minimal until John slid his arms up and around his friend’s neck, wanting the embrace like nothing before. The kissing continued, tongues sliding back and forth, breaths coming harsh between them as they each tried to get closer. John kept his eyes closed, afraid to see what was in front of him. He clung to Sherlock, the warmth of his body seeping into John’s chest.

Gradually they calmed and came apart a little. John let his hands move slowly to rest on his friend’s chest and Sherlock’s fingers grazed John’s cheek as he took back his hand. But he didn’t shift away, he gave a final kiss to John’s lips and pressed their foreheads together while John just tried to breathe. He opened his eyes and it was real, Sherlock wasn’t a ghost, he was there. And they had just kissed. “What do we do now?” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> So I've now seen The Sign of Three and I just had to change things a little because... wait, you're still getting married, even though your boyfriend's home now??


End file.
